


Verbatim

by Sithisis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence, Master and Apprentice, Other, Slytherin!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8128675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sithisis/pseuds/Sithisis
Summary: All his life, Harry has faced the abuse of the Dursleys and learned that in the end, people are only out for themselves. However, everything changes when he meets Tom Riddle, who is determined to be immortalized figuratively and physically in the wizarding world, and who offers Harry to become his apprentice. Under Tom’s tutelage, will Harry become someone who is no longer weak, no longer abused, and, perhaps, no longer even himself? Divergence. Slytherin!Harry.





	1. Knowing His Place

**Chapter 1 - Knowing His Place**

* * *

 

One of Harry’s earliest memories was being locked in a dark, tight space at the Dursley’s. He could hardly ever call it his “home”.

It happened after the first few days of attending kindergarten; a Muggle’s school for children of ages 4 to 5. Harry didn’t understand the concept of being left alone in a strange place full of other children. His immediate thoughts were that Aunt Petunia left him there for dead. He thought that the other children around him were there for similar reasons, and was confused as to why they were smiling. Perhaps they were oblivious of their fate. Didn’t they see the relieved look on the adults’ faces when they left them? Aunt Petunia had even said “good riddance” to him when she left the location.

Those first few days were a few of Harry’s worst. He would be told what to do by another adult – a stranger whom introduced themselves as someone the other children and himself could trust. He didn’t believe any of that, but followed their orders least they got angry and decided to use the belt. When following orders of “getting along” with the other children was finally over, all the children were herded to line up outside the room. It greatly surprised Harry that the children’s parents and guardians came back to pick them up and bid the one called “teacher” a “see you tomorrow.”

Harry waited with the children, of course. Up until the very last child left with their parents. There was a silence that followed when he looked up at the teacher, confused. Deep down, Harry was not surprised. Not surprised at all.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon, Harry,” the teacher assured him, slightly worrying their lip.

“Soon” was 45 minutes later when Mr. Dursley stomped into the school, grabbed Harry by the shoulder, and started to drag him outside to the car. --All the while mumbling angrily about how Harry was not his responsibility, how he thought he only had to pick up Dudley in a school that wasn’t a “shithole” like Harry’s school, and about how he was supposed to know that the git attended school now.

When Harry snuck a glance back at the teacher, he saw their confused yet relieved expression. It was to be expected, of course. Of course the teacher would want to relieve themself of their burden named “Harry”.

The very next day, the events repeated themselves. Harry followed the instructions of the teacher. He kept his head down so as to not draw attention to himself. When another child refused to help clean up after playtime, even after several attempts at scolding them, the teacher raised their voice. Harry shrank into himself; making himself appear as small as possible. He hoped that the teacher’s wrath wouldn't be upon him any time soon.

When the teacher suddenly called his name, their voice was laced with anger.

“Harry! I want you to _look at me_ when I’m speaking. This clean up rule applies to everyone. Yourself included.”

Harry was confused. He had always kept his head down. It was an effective defense against Mrs. and Mr. Dursley. He found that if he kept his head down, they would yell at him less because it meant that he “knew his place”.

Harry slowly lifted his head to meet the teacher’s eyes. Harry wasn’t sure, however, if the teacher’s expression softened in response. He thought that perhaps it was a play on the light or that he was suddenly very, very sick. Then, Harry realized that it was neither of those things that blurred his vision.

It was his tears.

When Mr. Dursley came to pick him up that day, the teacher didn’t simply let him grab Harry by the shoulder again. They asked if they could speak in private with Mr. Dursley.

Mr. Dursley whirled around, eyes staring accusingly at Harry, and Harry’s head went down to avoid his eyes once more.

When the teacher and Mr. Dursley’s talk was over, the latter was silent right up until the very moment they entered the house. Once the door was slammed and locked, Petunia strode up to them, her eyes just as aflame as her husband’s.

“What took you so long? Dudley’s part of a prestigious afterschool club now! You go get him from his room and drive him there!”

“This git was crying in school!” Mr. Dursley shoved Harry towards Mrs.Dursley. “The bloody teacher accused me of abusing him in our very own house! Can you believe their nerve!”

“Harry!” Mrs. Dursley became even more furious. “How dare you embarrass us like that? You’re not allowed to cry! I forbid you to say anything to your teacher! My word! What a demon of a child! Just like your mo--”

“Stop it!” Harry lifted his head and looked right into Mrs. and Mr. Dursley’s eyes. Earlier, his teacher taught him that it was good to look people in the eyes while they were talking. It was also good to express what he was feeling. Especially if he was uncomfortable about something. Perhaps this wasn’t what his teacher had in mind, however Harry was listening and listening. He didn’t like what he was hearing, and he wanted to let it be known.

“How dare you!” both Dursleys roared at once.

“Love,” Mrs. Dursley’s voice was suddenly very calm. However, unlike her previous outbursts, her voice was devoid of fire. It was cold as she gave her husband the order.

“Get the belt. And then lock him under the stairs. He will learn his lesson.”

One of Harry’s earliest memories was being locked in a dark, tight space at the Dursley’s.

How fitting that the very place he was locked in became his room and shelter from further abuse for years to come.

It was also then that he understood what it was like to want so much to stay in school and not go home. That night, Harry went into the dusty, spider-webbed cupboard and swore to himself, “I will never become like them.”


	2. Of Sweets and Revenge

On the rare occasion that Harry was part of a Dursley family outing, he would seize the opportunity to really look at the surroundings. The busy streets, the laughter of children around his age, and the sweet shops were his favourite things. Walking down the streets behind the Dursley's, he was able to feel a little bit more safe. Because everyone seemed busy, no one paid attention to him, and when no one paid attention, he would not be punished. Children’s laughter made Harry wonder if he would ever be able to understand their joy, and the bags of sweets from the shops that some children convinced their parents to buy made his mouth water. He hoped that someday, he could try some of the colourful flavours.

One particular occasion, Harry came close to trying sweets. It was in the form of an ice pop, really. Lemon-flavoured. It was a hot summer’s day, and the Dursleys decided to venture out to a park. An ice-cream truck was parked near the park, and parents let their children choose what flavour they wanted. Dudley ordered a triple chocolate sundae, while Mrs. and Mr. Dursley got deluxe Napoleon float to share.

When the employee in the ice-cream truck saw Harry, she asked him what he wanted to have, much to the annoyed expressions of the Dursley’s. Not wanting to deny Harry something in front of others, Mrs. and Mr. Dursley bought him the cheapest treat. A lemon-flavoured ice pop.

When Harry walked behind the Dursleys towards the park’s playground, the ice-cream truck employee waved back at him and beckoned him. Sneaking a glance at the Dursley’s, Harry went back.

“Please have this, sweetie. It looks like you need it... It’s free of charge,” smiled the employee.

Harry hesitated before reaching up to get the vanilla cone. He thanked the employee and ran back to follow the Dursley’s.

Harry didn’t know why the employee would give him something for free. Was there an ulterior motive? Was the ice cream poisoned? Not good at all? Before the Dursley’s realized that he was given an extra treat, Harry quickly threw the vanilla cone in a trash can. He appreciated the employee’s gestured, really, he did. However from his previous experience with ‘free’ stuff from the Dursley’s he knew that there had to either be a catch or a prank associated with it.

On that hot summer day, Harry didn’t want to take any chances.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s next encounter with sweets was at school. It was someone’s birthday, and their parents had brought a Wizard hat shaped cake and goodie bags filled with sweets to the classroom. After singing ‘Happy Birthday,’ the cake was cut and the goodie bags were handed out. Harry bit into the cake testily. It was sickeningly sweet, but it was pleasant.

Inside of his very own goodie bag labelled ‘Harry’ were a wizard’s hat, a toy wand, mini tin foil-wrapped chocolates, jelly-beans, sour gummies, and a sheet of glow-in-the-dark stickers. The Birthday was magic-themed.

It was all very fascinating to Harry, and when he saw that his classmates had no hesitation in diggin in their goodie bags, he did so as well. He reasoned that since the bag had his name on it, it was rightfully his and his alone. He didn’t need to share or give it all to Dudley.

He even played along with his classmates; casting silly-sounded spells and watching as some of them made their treats disappear. To Harry, it was very funny when his classmates made treats “disappear” by simply eating them. It was rather clever. Harry soon realized that he was genuinely laughing and smiling for the very first time.

Yet all good things came to an end when Harry got back to the Dursley’s that day. Mrs. Dursley was more furious than ever as she threw his wizard’s hat and toy wand into the fireplace, and sent Harry to his room without supper.

It was also then that Harry understood what it was like to want so much to stay in school and not go home. Harry went into the dusty, spider-webbed cupboard that night and fell asleep with vengeful thoughts.

He wished that magic was real.

 

* * *

 

Visits to any sort of cultural institution was a rare thing, even more so than walks outside on a hot summer’s day for Harry. But when it was Dudley’s eleventh birthday, and the Dursleys by no means wanted to leave Harry home alone to “cause havoc,” Harry ended up tagging along.

It wasn’t as fun as if could have been, but Harry didn’t really have any high expectations. Dudley’s friend, Piers was there as well, which gave Harry a difficult time. Piers always agreed with whatever Dudley said, and if Dudley told him to take Harry’s rare ice cream treat, Piers did so without a second’s hesitation.

There were many interesting animals at the Surrey Zoo. Secretly, Harry compared a gorilla to Dudley and contained his laughter for Piers and Dudley’s parents knew about it. Even at a public location, Harry was always being watched closely.

During mid-day, they all sat down to eat at the zoo’s restaurant, and Harry although Harry didn’t get to eat a specially designed order of food, he was nonetheless impressed with how the cooks designed their orders to resemble cartoon animal faces. Harry himself ate a hastily-made peanut butter sandwich that was brought from home for lunch.

After eating, they all went to visit the last section of animals, namely the different reptiles, and Dudley was thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’m bored! None of these animals are even _moving_ ,” Dudley complained as he tapped the glass of a cage that held a huge snake.

Harry stood silently beside him, reading the little information plaque. The snake was known as a boa constrictor hailing from Brazil. It was bred at the zoo, and blinked slowly while Dudley continued to obnoxiously tap on the glass of its tank. Harry stared at the snake and thought about how bored and annoyed it must be with people constantly making tapping noises and complaining about it not doing anything interesting.

Just as Harry was about to leave and look at another reptile, the boa constrictor perked its head up and tilted it towards Harry.

“How interessssting,” it said in a curious tone of voice.

Harry blinked. Did he just hear the snake talk?

“Yesssss. You, boy,” the snake continued to speak. “You undersssstand me. Tell me - what does that plaque sssssay about me anyway? Issss it really that interessssting?”

Harry stole a glance at Dudley, who was now no longer tapping away at the boa constrictor’s tank, but another reptile’s. Harry looked back at the snake. “It says that you’re from Brazil,” he whispered. “And you were bred here a few years ago.”

“Brazzzzil?” the snake asked, slithering up towards the edge of its glass tank and eyeing Harry. “Tell me about this Brazzzil.”

Harry racked his brain to remember what he learned about geography at school. “It’s located in South America and borders the Atlantic Ocean,” he said. “It’s also well known for its rainforests… there’s an Amazon Rainforest, I think. There are highlands and coastlines -”

“What are you doing, weirdo?” interrupted Dudley. He walked up to Harry and the snake and pointed to the latter. “Hey mom! Dad! Piers - Check it out! The lazy animal is finally doing something!”

The Dursleys and Piers rushed over.

While Piers and Dudley began to tap on the glass tank once again in attempt to make the snake move a bit more, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had concerned looks.

“Dudley, dear,” Mrs. Dursley began in a sweet voice. “What was Harry doing that was weird?”

“Weirdo was whispering to the snake,” Dudley replied. And then he stopped tapping the glass and turned around to face Harry. “You better not be telling it to curse us or something! Knowing you, you would! Even though magic doesn’t exist, you’ll try your best, wouldn’t you?”

Harry was speechless. He didn’t have any justification for whispering to the boa constrictor other than the fact that it had actually spoken to him. He tried to quickly think of something - anything - to help his case, however nothing came to mind.

Meanwhile, Mr. Dursley already began to fume. His face turned red, and so did Mrs. Dursely’s.

Harry was not afraid. He knew that the Dursleys would never dare to strike him in public. They could deny him of food, pretend he didn’t exist, have him walk in filthy clothes, however not strike him in public.

After all, there were too many people watching, and the Dursleys wouldn’t want to _share_ their pleasure in giving Harry the belt or multiple slaps.

So Harry simply shrugged and walked to another display. He gave a quick glance back at the boa constrictor, hoping he was able to convey that he was sorry about not being to tell it more about its origins.

Meanwhile, Dudley and Piers glared vehemently at him. But glares, although a discomfort, didn’t physically hurt him. Harry cherished the small victory as he read another plaque.

Suddenly, there was a loud yelp, and then a horrified scream back where the boa constrictor was located. Harry whirled around and saw that somehow, the boa constrictor got out of its cage!

It slithered towards Dudley, snapping at him only to scare him and get revenge on the annoying tapping. But that was enough to send Mrs. and Mr. Dursley into a flurry of motions. First, they waved their arms around in attempt to scare the snake off, and then when that didn’t work, they pushed Piers forward, as if hoping to bait the snake to bit him instead of their precious son.

When Harry caught the snake’s eye, it grinned and thanked Harry for telling it about Brazil before slithering away. Harry gave it a small smile. At least it was free from the Dursleys.

After the zookeepers arrived and calmed everyone down, Dursley was back to his normal self. He, along with his parents, demanded refunds and consolation in the form of gift shop items. The zookeepers, not in charge of the gift shop, looked at each other in panic as a few other zoo visitors gathered around them, demanding reparations for their horrifying experience - even when they weren’t even there with which to begin.

Harry shook his head. People were always looking to get a deal or a benefit from others, and were even willing to lie in order to get the upperhand. He supposed that that was how people survived. He’s seen the Dursleys do it many times successfully, and thereby won many a favours from otherwise reluctant people.

The ends always seemed to justify the means.

 

* * *

 

After leaving the zoo, the Dursleys were in surprisingly happy mood. What with compensation and being showered with items from the gift shop, they seemed to forget their anger over Harry.

Harry took it in stride and used the quiet time to think about what had happened earlier. How did the snake get free? Why did the glass simply disappear? He knew that had too many questions, and no one would answer him, yet in the back of his mind, he somehow intrinsically knew that the whole snake fiasco was his doing.

He had been able to converse with the boa constrictor earlier, which was something strange. And he did wish the creature freedom when he discovered that it would otherwise not know its origins in Brazil. Perhaps when Dudley had said he was weirdo, the claim wasn’t so far off after all.

As Harry fell asleep, he dreamed of a universe where “weirdos” such as himself, weirdos who could talk with animals and can make something happen if they simply wish it, were not discriminated against.

A universe in which there was magic.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the second chapter! Feel free to leave a kudos/comment/bookmark. :)


	3. Owl’s Well That Ends Well

The next few days were strange. It gave a whole new meaning to “weird,” according to Harry. Whenever he woke up and went into the kitchen to get some crackers and a cup of water, the Dursleys would watch him closely, as if they suspected Harry knew something that they didn’t know themselves. The Dursleys were surely hiding something, and while Harry knew to better not ask, he also decided that if they were hiding something concerning him, then he had to find out what it was all about. 

It was during a Saturday morning that things were made very clear. 

As per usual, Harry woke up and went into the kitchen, smelling the delicious bacon and the fresh assortment of cut-up fruits. It was for Dudley, of course. Never for him. As he was about to reach for the box of crackers, he saw a flash of movement outside of the window.

It was a golden-brown bird of some kind, and if Harry ventured a guess, it was an owl. What was an owl doing out so early in the morning? 

The owl flew by again, and Harry got a good look at it this time. The creature seemed to have a golden letter attached to one of its feet… a letter addressed to him!

Harry forgot all about his so-called breakfast and rushed to the front door to open it. He never got mail before! What did this mean? And mail from an owl, no less!

Just as he was about to open the lock, Mr. Dursley barrelled into him. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he shouted, face turning red. 

“I want some fresh air,” Harry lied. He knew that if told Mr. Dursley the truth, then he would never receive the mysterious letter. When Mr. Dursley did not look any calmer with the response, Harry continued, “I’ll be outside for the rest of the day. Out of your sight and I won’t be a bother.”

Mr. Dursley seemed to consider it and agree before Mrs. Dursley arrived at the scene as well. 

“No,” she said firmly. “We are having none of that.” 

She then looked at her husband with a frightened expression. “We can’t let him go outside.”

Harry was angry. He  _ knew _ it! He knew that the Dursleys were hiding something from him, and that something was a letter in a golden envelope carried by an owl. 

“Go back to your room!” Mr. Dursley shouted, raising a fist. “Or you know what will happen.”

Harry knew that he was fighting a losing battle. Nothing would be achieved right now. If he denied the order, then he will meet the belt and be too hurt to even have the energy to try and sneak outside later. He he followed the order, then for the rest of the day, the Dursleys would assume that he was in his so-called room and not bother with him. If he could make himself not noticeable, if he could be quite enough and play his cards right, then he would have a chance of sneaking out. 

Harry dropped his head downwards and shuffled to his room. He slammed the door shut, and then immediately regretted it as what few belongings he had feel down on the dusty wooden floor. His other regret was that he didn’t bring back any breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

For the rest of the morning, Harry listened to the Dursleys from inside of his room. His stomach growled in hunger, but he didn’t focus on that. Instead, he saw it as a minor annoyance because it made him miss tidbits of conversation. 

By early afternoon, Harry came to the conclusion that the Dursleys would be going to an amusement park, thanks to a commercial that Dudley saw on the television. He heard the click of Mrs. Dursley's heels as she went down the stairs. He heard the thud of Mrs. Dursley and Dudley’s footsteps as walked right outside the front door. Harry also heard the start of the car and the Dursleys finally, finally driving away and leaving Harry at his lonesome at home. 

It was contrary to what had happened last time when the Dursleys were weary of Harry “causing havoc” when being left home alone. This time, however, they either forgot he was there, or were sure of his obedience such that he would not leave his room. No matter. Harry took what chances he got. 

He opened the triangular door, crawled out, and stood up. He dusted off his pants before going to the front door and opening it. 

What he had expected did not occur, and he was disappointed. There was no owl. He checked the mailbox, but there was no letter. It was then that Harry realized that the Dudleys must have taken his letter as they were leaving the house. 

Harry was angry. Angry and disappointed and downright hungry. Hungry for food, yes, but mostly hungry for something that he cannot quite pinpoint. Revenge, perhaps? Vengeance? Whatever the case, he was annoyed about it all. He quickly closed the door lest the neighbours saw him and complained to the Dursleys, and walked into the kitchen.

There were a few pieces of mouth-watering bacon left, but Harry did not dare to consume any of it. Mrs. Dursley would know and Dudley would complain, after all. Instead, he took the box of crackers and wolfed down one row of them. He then opened a cupboard where the plastic bags were kept and tossed another row of crackers into it so that he could eat them later on in his room. Harry had a distinct feeling that he would not be getting dinner tonight. 

It was then that Harry had an idea - If he wasn’t going to get dinner tonight, and the Dursleys expected him to be in his room for the rest of the day, then what if he snuck out and stayed outside until tomorrow morning? 

If the owl appeared again tomorrow morning, then it would deliver the letter straight to him. Nodding to himself, Harry then tossed a few more crackers into the plastic bag. He looked around the kitchen to see if he could gather more supplies that the Dursleys would not miss. 

There was some juice boxes - apple flavoured that Dudley didn’t particularly enjoy - at the end of the fridge. Harry took a few those and put them into another plastic bag.

Since it was summertime, Harry reasoned that he wouldn’t need anything to keep himself warm outside. He decided against bringing his thin wool blanket out, since that would make it susceptible to dirt. The blanket was already dusty, and he didn’t want to make it even more dirty. Who knew when another washing day would occur? The Dursleys certainly didn’t do their laundry with Harry’s clothing.

After putting on his shoes, Harry opened the front door, went outside, and hid under the tall bushes by the side of the house. It was tactical location. Windows of the house’s living room were right near where he was located, so if the Dursleys suspected him missing, then he hear them and simply find the right time to get back inside. A small bonus was that if the Dursleys decided to watch television, then Harry would be able to hear it and not be entirely bored for the rest of the day. 

It was around midnight when the Dursleys got back. From the sounds of them, they were exhausted and couldn’t care less about the state of Harry. Apparently, they had already had a filling supper at the amusement park. Their only complaint was that the menu items were overpriced. 

Eyelids heavy, Harry soon fell asleep beneath the greenery and under the stars. 

 

* * *

 

Harry had expected that he would receive his letter the next morning, however he was very, very wrong. 

That night, as he dreamt about a universe so unlike the one he’s known for so long, heavy footsteps landed beside him. The owner of those footsteps crouched down and roughly shook Harry awake. The movement wasn’t mean-spirited, but rather akin to someone who didn’t know the effect of their own strength on others. 

When Harry rubbed his eyes and opened them, he was met with a giant of man. The man’s hair and beard were unruly, and coupled with his heavy leather boots, his stature was ever the more imposing. 

“‘arry!” the man whispered excitedly. “This is where ya live! Dumbledore’s been tryin’ to reach ya for days!” Then, the man paused and knitted his eyebrows together, a realization suddenly hitting him. “...They make ya sleep outside?”

Harry shook his head while dusting off his jeans. He stood up, and beside him, the giant of man made him seem even more puny and scrawny than ever. Harry looked up at the man, then at the golden envelope delicately held in one hand. The other hand held a closed pink umbrella for some reason. 

“No…,” Harry replied, not really sure of what to make of this. “They’ve been preventing me from getting my letter. So I snuck outside to get it tomorrow morning.” Harry then grinned. “But it looks like I’ll be getting it now!”

The man shook his head in disbelief and looked like he was about to be in tears. “I’m sorry, ‘arry,” he managed to say.

“It’s alright. No big deal, erm -”

“Oh! The name’s ‘agrid!” 

“Nice to meet you, Hagrid,” Harry replied, taking the envelope. “Thanks for delivering my letter.” Then, Harry remembered something. “...What would you like in return?” he asked slowly, suddenly suspicious. 

Because in the end, people are only out for themselves.

“Nothing!” Hagrid replied, incredulous. He then scratched the back of his head. “I mean. Yer agreement to attend Hogwarts, really,” Hagrid corrected himself. 

“Excuse me?”

When Harry didn’t register what that meant, Hagrid grew a little exasperated. “You mum n’ dad were great wizards from Hogwarts! Ya know? The school of magic?”

Magic. It was true that Harry had dreamed of a universe where magic was real, however he didn’t expect that dream to ever come true. Things like that were of fables, fairytales, and those old fantasy books Harry read at the library. 

“Blimey…” Hagrid continued. “You’re a wizard, Harry.”

Harry only had one response. “...I-I'm a what?”

“A wizard!”

Harry shook his head, yet nonetheless getting goosebumps despite of the warm summer night. “You’re mistaken,” he replied. “This better not be a prank by Dudley. I’m just Harry, Hagrid. That’s all there is to it. Just Harry.”

“Well, “Just Harry,” read this letter from Dumbledore ‘imself, then,” Hagrid replied.

Harry slowly opened the golden envelope, heart pounding against his wishes. What an elaborate prank. A prank that was too cruel, yet at the back of Harry’s mind, he thought that maybe,  _ maybe _ it was real.

After reading the invitation to Hogwarts, Harry folded the letter back up and put it in its envelope carefully. He looked up a Hagrid and asked, “Prove it to me. Prove that magic exists.”

Hagrid looked uncomfortable. He gripped the pink umbrella tightly in his hand as he replied, “Not sure if I’m allowed to do that…”

“C’mon, Hagrid! How am I supposed to trust any of this?” Harry tried a different tactic. He lightened his tone. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise!”

Hagrid hesitated for a moment before he pointed his umbrella at a nearby bush and set it on fire. The flames lite up and started to spread before Hagrid waved his umbrella again and it went out. With one more wave, the bush was back and undamaged.

Magic! So it  _ did  _ exist. And, from what he just gathered, he already had an affinity with it. The incident with the snake suddenly made a lot of sense. His aunt’s hatred for all things magic was suddenly clear - she didn’t want him to reach his full potential. Or, perhaps, use his magic against the Dursleys.

“See? Let’s get ya to Hogwarts, ‘arry!” 

Harry’s eyes widened as he looked up at Hagrid. He nodded his head. He will go to Hogwarts and leave this place once and for all.

Magic. Potential. Greatness. His mind was running a hundred miles a second, but he uttered only one, very desperate thought.

“ _ Don’t make me come back here. _ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the third chapter. Please leave a kudos/bookmark/comment! :)
> 
> I'm also trying to figure out the best time and date to update this fanfic! When do you all usually read fanfics or check for updates?


	4. Serendipity and Fallacy

As Harry walked down Diagon Alley, Hagrid by his side, he looked in every direction, as if memorizing and filing everything away for later use. To say that he was fascinated was an understatement. There were a plethora of shops that sold items of magic, sweets, books, and things that Harry couldn’t even describe due to his lack of experience in the magical world. He promised himself that he would learn about everything soon enough.

But first thing’s first - his school supplies. Earlier, Hagrid had explained that his parents left him an inheritance at the Gringotts Wizarding Bank, so Harry didn’t need to worry about finances while shopping for supplies and, as Hagrid had tried to subtly point out - new clothes. While Harry was used to wearing ill-fitted hand-me-downs from Dudley, even in public, he felt that Hagrid was right about wearing ill-fitted clothing here in the magical world. If he was going to achieve greatness, then he should look the part. Something in the back of his mind told him that it would do him well to appear presentable and gain influence as quickly as he could. 

After purchasing all the books required for his first year of classes, Harry and Hagrid went to a shop known as “Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions”, where Harry would get a Hogwarts uniform. Harry was excited. Clothing that would finally fit him! Customized clothing! 

The plan was for Harry to enter the store and wait his turn to be fitted while Hagrid went about his own “secret business.” Harry knew not to ask any questions. 

When Harry entered the store, there was already another person being measured by Madam Malkin. “Welcome, welcome!” she nonetheless greeted. She offered Harry a seat beside her blond customer.

“What family are you from?” the blond immediately asked without preamble. He looked down his nose at Harry.

Harry wanted to not respond. What did this person want with such information? Besides, he was currently just Harry Potter, but one day, his name will ring across the wizarding world.  

Apparently, not replying to the snotty blond was disliked. “You’re one of those filthy mudbloods, then?” 

“My word!” Madam Malkin scowled at the blond. “Draco Malfoy - I will not have you utter such language in my shop!”

The blond known as Draco simply grinned.

“Dear, what is your name?” Madam Malkin asked Harry, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Harry.”

“Harry…?”

“Potter. My name’s Harry Potter.”

Madam Malkin gasped, and even Draco whipped his arrogant blond head around, looking at Harry with a shocked expression.

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Madam Malkin demanded. She then began to tell Harry about how he was “The Boy Who Lived” and how his mother - Lily - was a great wizard who fought against “He Who Must Not Be Named” in order to save Harry’s life. Harry didn’t really understand all the terms used, but he held onto the fact that he had his mother’s bright green eyes with rapture. Harry never knew his mother, much less his father, but if they were anything better than the Dursley’s, he’d proudly accept his heritage.  

Meanwhile, Draco grew annoyed about not getting Madam Malkin’s fullest attention. He sneered at Harry as the latter threw him a triumphant grin. “My family comes from a long tradition of pure bloods. We are very powerful wizards,” Draco said, looking down his nose at Harry again. 

Harry didn’t care. He would become one of those very powerful wizards on his own and without riding on anyone’s coattails. Didn’t Draco feel embarrassed of not having achieved status on his own, but rather having his own parents achieve it for him? Did he pride himself of  _ not _ being independent? Harry hoped that he wouldn’t have to encounter others as despicable as this Draco Malfoy again when he’s at Hogwarts. 

When Draco’s robe was finished, Madam Malkin turned to Harry and began to work quickly. Harry had many questions about his parents, but decided to not ask them. If his parents were such respected wizards, and his mother, especially, was a powerful one, then wouldn’t it make sense that Madam Malkin would try to use him as a means to an end just like how Draco used his parent’s achievements to get ahead? 

Harry simply nodded his head in thanks as Madam Malkin finished up. After he paid, he asked her to inform Hagrid, when he returned, that he would be at Ollivander’s Wand Shop. Harry gave Madam Malkin a few extra galleons to make sure that she would do it. Madam Malkin protested and said that she would give it back to Hagrid, who would later return the galleons to him. Harry shrugged as he left the shop.

 

* * *

 

Ollivander’s Wand Shop smelled of sandalwood and a hint of many a something else that Harry just couldn’t quite place. The owner, Garrick Ollivander himself, promptly introduced himself and began to test different wands on Harry. He gave Harry a wide selection to hold and wave around, but after about 30 minutes, nothing seemed to be the “right” fit. 

Harry sighed. “I would like a powerful wand,” he said, hoping his input would somehow speed things up a bit. 

That was when another customer entered the store. He was tall, lean, wore a turban, and smelled faintly of garlic.

“Ah, Quirinus! Here to pick up your repaired wand?” Ollivander greeted. Then, he gestured at Harry. “You should meet Harry - Harry Potter! Can you believe it, Quirinus? The Boy Who Lived - at my humble little shop?”

Quirinus gave Ollivander a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked at Harry, and his smile widened. “Greetings, Harry Potter. I’m Quirinus Quirrell. A professor at Hogwarts, and proudly Slytherin.”

“What do you teach, professor?”

“Defense against the Dark Arts,” he replied, taking the wand from Ollivander.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows.  _ Defense _ ? Why not offense? - Or, better yet, why not simply teach the Dark Arts themselves? There was some mystery there, and Harry was immediately intrigued. Professors were supposed to teach, much like his own teacher back in the other universe, right? 

Harry opened his mouth to ask Quirrell a question… but the professor was already gone.

“Something’s definitely not right with Quirrell,” Ollivander said after a few more wands. “He’s just not the same after he took his “grand tour” around the world for first-hand experience… Better to have stuck with the books, the poor lad.”

Ollivander shook his head. “But nevermind him. Harry - I am determined to find you the perfect wand, but this has so far been difficult. I have but one more wand in the back left… wait here.”

Harry nodded. With nothing else to do, his thoughts went back to the professor again. Will he be teaching Harry Defense against the Dark Arts this year? Will he be good at it? If the subject was a “defense”, then perhaps utilizing the knowledge gained from that class would be a prerequisite to offense and more than simply let the art dwindle and not evolve for the betterment of the world. 

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when Ollivander came back and carefully handed Harry the wand.

The effects were immediate - Harry felt a jolt of something powerful within him as magic swirled around him. The scar on his forehead pulsed and Harry felt its searing heat for a second before it cooled down, bathed by the magic around him. As quickly as it happened, it was over. Harry stared at his wand and smiled a real, overjoyed smiled. The use of magic felt amazing. The powerfulness of it. The potential. He wanted to do great things with his abilities, and he now truly couldn’t wait to finally arrive at Hogwarts.

“Eleven inches long, holly wood, and a phoenix feather core,” Ollivander said quietly. “Curious...”

When Harry looked at him with questioning eyes, Ollivander continued. “Wands made out of holly wood choose protective owners. Yet owners who are on a dangerous, spiritual quest. Paired with a phoenix feather core, there is tension, but if used correctly in your quest, Harry Potter, you’ll find that nothing would stand in your way.”

Then, Ollivander mumbled, “Curious. Curious… the wand of “He Who Must Not Be Named” also had the core of a phoenix feather.”

Before Harry could ask anything about this “He Who Must Not Be Named” person, Hagrid burst through the door. 

“‘arry! There ya are! Let’s get ya to Hogwarts now - Dumbledore wants to see ya before the Sorting,” Hagrid said while catching his breath. He gave Ollivander a quick nod and quickly guided Harry outside by the shoulders. 

As they took the train to Hogwarts, Hagrid explained the “Sorting” to Harry. At Hogwarts, students were separated to different houses depending on their personality. While Gryffindor was of bravery, Ravenclaw was of wisdom. Meanwhile, Hufflepuff was of perseverance, and Slytherin was of ambition. 

Harry knew that he certainly had ambition. However, he also wanted to be brave and wise and be able to persevere. He wondered which house he would end up in later. 

 

* * *

 

Hogwarts looked amazing. The castle-like architecture loomed above him and the vastness and beauty of the orange-red sky and its setting sun paled in comparison. Even the gates that opened up for Hagrid and him were majestic in their design. 

Once inside the school, Harry followed Hagrid to a statue. Hagrid whispered a few magical words to it, and it slide to the right to reveal a long, winding stairway to what Hagrid had told him was Dumbledore’s office. 

Harry continued to follow Hagrid. The giant’s footsteps were noisy and made the stairs squeak, but Harry was sure that some sort of magic was preventing the stairs from collapsing under Hagrid. When they finally made it to the top of the stairs, they were met with a door that Hagrid knocked three times before it opened to reveal an old man sitting comfortably at his desk.

The old man had long, white hair and a bear that flowed elegantly down his robes. His spectacles had a gold lining, and his eyes twinkled under them. He looked whimsical and ethereal, in a way. But what drew Harry in the most was his presence. His presence felt powerful. 

“Hello, Harry!” the old man said, walking up to him and extending a hand. “Hagrid should have told you about me. I am Dumbledore, Chair of Hogwarts, and I’m so very joyous that we could meet before the Sorting.”

“Hello, Dumbledore,” came Harry’s automatic reply. He shook the man’s hand and then let go of it.

Dumbledore nodded at Hagrid. “Thank you, my old friend.”

“You’re welcome, Albus,” Hagrid replied with a huge grin. He then shut the door behind him and went down the stairs. 

“Hagrid is such a good fella, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sitting down once more. “He is but a mere Groundskeeper of our school, but he’s nonetheless gifted with magic and handling animals.” 

Harry nodded. He wasn’t sure where this was going. Had he treated Hagrid unwell? Harry knew that he did manipulate Hagrid into using a bit of magic, but surely that didn’t constitute as something bad now, did it? Harry suddenly became suspicious of Hagrid. There seemed to be some kind of catch after all. 

“Calm your mind, Harry,” Dumbledore said, as if reading Harry’s thoughts. 

Harry focused sharply on Dumbledore. “Why am I here, Dumbledore?” he asked politely.

“I wanted to tell you about your parents, Harry,” Dumbledore replied without missing a beat. 

“I already know about them,” Harry said. He couldn’t help himself. Ever since being introduced to the wizarding world, everyone he met talked about his parents. However, Harry himself never truly got to know them. It was a bit frustrating to keep hearing the same things over and over again.

“Did you know that your father, James, was a Gryffindor?” Dumbledore questioned.

Surprised about this new information, Harry shook his head. Everyone had simply told him that his father was a student from Hogwarts, his mother was a powerful wizard and an amazing master of Charms, and that he had his mother’s eyes.

“Did you know that your mother, Lily, was also a Gryffindor?”

Again, Harry shook his head.

“I hope you will do your parents proud, Harry Potter,” Dumbledore concluded. 

Dumbledore then got up from his seat, walked to the door, and opened it. “Come, Harry. The Sorting will begin shortly.” 

As he swept down the stairs in his flowing robes, he turned his head around and almost as if an afterthought, said, “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

 

* * *

 

All around him, students chatted amongst themselves excitedly. Harry found himself a seat at the end of a long, wooden table and remained silent. 

The silence was interrupted when a boy with curly red hair plopped down and took a seat beside him. Then, another boy who looked like the first one, but older, sat down, too. 

“Aw, c’mon, Percy! Don’t baby me!” the first red haired boy whined at his older brother. But Percy just crossed his arms together and told him to behave properly. 

The younger of the redheads then turned to Harry. “Annoying, isn’t he? Just because he’s a prefect, he thinks he can boss me around now.”

Harry looked at Percy, who had a scowl on his face. Harry then looked at the boy before him, now biting his lip in worry and a bit of regret, and laughed. 

“Aw, not you, too!” the boy put his hands in his hair, but there was no venom in his voice as he grinned back at Harry. The boy then stuck out his hand. “I’m Ron Weasley,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Harry,” Harry replied, shaking Ron’s hand. He decided to leave his last name out, hoping that doing so would make Ron not see him differently solely because of his heritage. 

“Awesome! What house d’you reckon you’ll be in? I think I’ll be in Gryffindor, as my mum and dad were in it. Unfortunately,” Ron now pointed at his older brother. “Percy’s in it, too.”

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied. “I heard they’re all pretty good. Maybe Slytherin for its ambition?”

Ron groaned. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not Slytherin. Anything but slimy Slytherin!” he said. 

Just as Ron was about to go on a rant, he was interrupted by sharp huff. A girl with frizzy brown hair sat down beside them and glared at Ron. “All of the houses have their virtues and vices,” she said. 

“Yeah?” Ron immediately replied, taking the bait. “How would you know, know-it-all?”

“It’s in chapter one of  _ Hogwarts: A History _ ,” the girl replied. “Didn’t you do your readings?” 

“School hasn’t even started yet!” Ron exclaimed. 

“It started the moment you set foot here!” the girl’s voice grew exasperated. “I thought wizards took their studies in magic seriously.”

“Oh,” Ron suddenly calmed down as a realization dawned upon him. “You are muggle-born, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You better not mean that as an insult.”

“No, of course not,” Ron replied. “I mean. I think we got off on the wrong foot here.” Ron then extended his hand. “I’m Ron Weasley.” He then gestured to Harry.

“I’m Harry,” Harry said once again. “I also think that all the house have their strengths and weaknesses. But I trust the Sorting Hat.”

The girl smiled. “Hermione,” she said, shaking both their hands. Her grip was firm and her smile was warm. In turn, Ron’s expression turned friendly and warm as well. And for the first time ever in Harry’s life, he felt that he had the beginnings of a friendship.

“If anything, both of my parents were in Gryffindor,” Harry simply gave that piece of information away. It happened so naturally. 

“Let’s hope that we’ll end up together,” Ron replied. Then, he leaned in and whispered to both him and Hermione, “Don’t leave me here to face Percy alone!”

All three of them laughed with their hands covering their mouths, trying to hide it from under Percy’s strict gaze. 

Suddenly, the room was silent as the Sorting Hat ceremony began. 

The Sorting Hat sang words of poetry before introducing itself and other four houses of Hogwarts. Then, one by one, first year students went up to the hat and sat down on the chair beside it. The hat was gently placed on their heads before it loudly announced the student’s house. 

When Draco Malfoy was called up, Harry immediately recognized the name. It was the same blond who he had met earlier. Before the hat could even be placed upon Draco’s head, it shouted, “Slytherin!” and there was an applause from the far left of the room as the upper Slytherin students welcomed yet another to their house. 

Afterwards, it was Ron’s turn, and the same thing happened to him - without a moment’s hesitation, the Sorting Hat announced his house as Gryffindor. Hermione was quickly sorted to Gryffindor as well. 

Then, it was Harry’s turn. He suddenly felt anxious. He wanted to be in Gryffindor if only to continue this newfound friendship with Hermione and Ron, and if only, as Dumbledore had said, to do his parents proud. Yet he also know that he was an ambitious person. 

When Harry sat down on the chair, he held his breath, and instead of announcing his house right away, or even taking a few more seconds to make a decision, the Sorting Hat was silent. 

The silence continued, and Harry had to start breathing again. He looked up at the table where Dumbledore and the professors sat. Dumbledore, in particular, seemed to have a worried expression on his face. Meanwhile, professor Quirinus, who sat a few seats away from him and beside a man with greasy, raven hair, had on an unreadable expression. Wasn’t professor Quirinus of the Slytherin house? Harry remembered that earlier, Quirinus did say so himself.

After it took what seemed like whole, long minute, the Sorting Hat announced Harry’s house in a booming voice with finality.

  
“ _ Slytherin!! _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes the fourth chapter. Feel free to leave a kudos/comment/bookmark to let me know that you've enjoyed reading this!


	5. Starvation

Harry stood up from the chair and made his way to the Slytherin table. He felt saddened that he wouldn’t get to be with Ron and Hermione, yet he was excited to meet other potential friends. He hoped that despite of being in a different house, Ron and Hermione could still be his friends, as they seemed to be kind and welcoming.

When Harry arrived at his new table, the Slytherin students surrounded him and talked about how they were correct that a wizard as strong as Harry Potter was well-suited for their house. Nevermind the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, who the Slytherins now deemed as somewhat unworthy.

Harry, unfamiliar with such attention, simply smiled tightly before taking a seat. The Sorting ceremony continued, and before long, it was over with Dumbledore announcing the start of the feast.

Harry watched in awe as creatures known as House Elves brought platter of platter of freshly made and piping hot food to the table. Duck, chicken, beef, pork - all presented beautifully with lavishing sauces by the creatures made him drool a little. The smell of the food was delectable, and, Harry knew, the taste would be divine.

Next, came the side dishes of colour fruits and salads, followed up by pumpkin soup and sparkling drinks of every colour. Was such a feast really for students? Was there not a price? While Harry knew that his inheritance would allow him to afford food, he nonetheless found himself hesitating more and more as the table filled up.

When the table was full of food and drink, all the students dove into action; they went for their favourites and gobbled them up with satisfying grins. Harry watched in fascination as a blond - Draco Malfoy to be exact, greedily devoured a piece of mince pie while trying to be graceful about it at the same time.

Draco Malfoy sneered at Harry. “What? Never seen food before, Potter?”

The wretched Dursleys were not here. They were muggles through and through, never wanted anything to do with magic, and, Harry realized, they were not at Hogwarts to punish him for whatever he said. So Harry spoke the truth.

“Can you blame me?” Harry replied bitterly with hint of a grin. “They used to starve me.”

He neither referred to ‘family’ nor ‘home’, for the Dursleys and their household did not deserve such titles.

The Slytherins at the table gasped, unbelieving that someone as legendary as the ‘Boy Who Lived’ had been subject to such abuse.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows, as if not understanding what starvation was in the first place. He then put down his eating utensils and looked Harry in the eye. “If you must know,” he said stiffly. “We can eat as much as we want at Hogwarts. The House Elves will take care of the food, if we request it. Don’t be starved here, Potter.”

Harry stared, long enough that Draco and the other Slytherins felt uncomfortable that one of their own had suffered, and they slowly offered Harry their recommendations. Soon, Harry’s had several plates in front of him that were piled high and delicious.

Harry felt a familiar sensation prickle his eyes. It reminded him of one of his very first days in school, when his teacher told him to look them in the eyes. The teacher had smiled then, when Harry expressed confusion about the notion. But Harry knew better now, and he knew that he can do better now.

He sniffled and smiled down at the plate in front of him before looking at his classmates. “Thank you,” he said softly.

The Slytherins then continued to enjoy the rest of the meal. A few cast worried glances at Harry, and some students whispered about him when they thought he didn’t notice, but Harry was fine with that. It wasn’t like he was not used to it. However, the difference between here and his past was that his house members had some sort of empathy for him.

Harry then thought that if he was a lesser person, then he would use such empathy for his own gains and hurt others. But Harry was Harry, and not like that of the Dursleys.

 

* * *

 

After the hearty meal, the students were led to their dorms to unpack their belongings. When Harry discovered that he had to share a bunk bed with Draco, he felt less irritated than if Draco hadn’t begrudgingly welcomed him earlier. Malfoy and himself seemed to be direct opposites - in terms of styles, anyway. Where Harry unpacked baggy clothing that were Dudley’s hand-me-downs, Draco had his clothes tailored with elaborate designs and beautiful fabrics.

When Draco noticed Harry’s clothing, it was as if he had a sneer and an insult programmed into him. But Malfoy reigned it back. “Hogsmeade,” Draco said. “It’s for third years, but we have to go someday.”

And Draco simply left it at that as he then began to busy himself with preparation for Potions class, which would begin in an hour.

Potions. It was a course on his timetable that intrigued Harry, however not as much as Defense Against the Dark Arts. Quirrell was going to teach it. And from Harry’s earlier meeting and impression, the Dark Arts would aid him in a journey to greatness. To power.

Harry got up from his bed, which made Draco look up at him questioningly.

“I’m going to check out the library,” Harry said, using a casual tone. Draco didn’t need to know that he was going to look through books about the Dark Arts.

Draco nodded and returned to his Potions notes.

 

* * *

 

The library was muted and cozy. The dim lighting provided by the chandeliers above made Harry worry at first about fires, but he realized that Hogwarts was of magic. He reasoned that spell-bound would not burn so easily.

Harry browsed through the seemingly infinite shelves of the library. He traced the spines of some books, feeling the magic of words just beyond the covers. Some of the books hummed when he neared them, as if asking him to open them up and learn all of its secrets. Other books shook and growled when he touched them, as if signifying that he was not yet ready to read them.

Eventually, Harry gathered a few books on the Dark Arts. After flipping through them, he found that the underlying theme of them all was how the Dark Arts were not “dark” and “evil” by nature. Harry shook his head. Why were the authors apologizing for such power and ability to control it? It cannot just be because of its name. There must be some history to it that the books did not provide him. Harry hoped that History of Magic with Professor Binns later on would answer some of his questions.

But still, Harry was unsatisfied with what he found so far. There had to be more - and in a different perspective. A perspective that was not of such… defeat and apology. After all, that did not seem like the Slytherin way.

Harry walked around the library once more, keeping in mind that he had about 10 more minutes before having to attend Potions class. He was about to leave when he walked by a shelf almost hidden in the very back of the library. A small, black book was there, amongst other books that were under the category labelled “restricted.” The book not only hummed as he approached it, but seemed to give off a glow. It had an aura that promised just what he was looking for, and without hesitating, Harry took it from its spot on the shelf.

The book was made out of a leathery material. Its edges had linings of gold, and it looked weathered and well-read or written in numerous times. When Harry opened the book, its worn, yellow pages were marked with beautiful handwriting in black ink. The book had no table of contents, but rather dates, and each entry appeared to be about the activities of a students who once went to Hogwarts. It was a diary.

“I don’t normally let first years borrow from the restricted section,” a voice interrupted Harry’s perusal.

Harry looked up to see a woman with sharp, brown eyes and deep red lipstick. Her robes were black and consisted of many feathers, as was her wizard’s hat.

“Miss?”

The woman smiled. “Madam Irma Pince,” she introduced herself. “And you must be Harry Potter.” She nodded towards his forehead.

“May I borrow this book?”

Madam Pince nodded once again and waved her wand. “You may. The check out is at the front counter. Simply write your name and the location of the book. Return it in a fortnight.”

“Alright. Thank you, miss.”

Madam Pince smiled again, flattered. “Hurry along now, Harry. You will really do well to not be late for Severus’ class.”

With that, Harry checked out the book, tucked in into his robes, and rushed to Potions.

 

* * *

 

Harry heard the long-winded drivel of the Professor Snape’s voice and lecture before he entered the classroom. He was exactly a minute late, and although he felt bad, it was better to be late than never.

The only worry was the punishment that the professor would give him. Lateness was never tolerated in the Dursley household, nor was it tolerated in school. Harry wondered if Hogwarts’ punishments were mere detentions like those in primary school, or more like the punishments with a belt that Mr. Dursley dealt on him.

He rushed in, hoping that the latter wasn’t the case.

Professor Snape paused in his speech about Potions and outright glared at Harry. “Ah, Mr. Potter,” he sneered. “Whatever you may believe, your celebrity status does not mean special privileges. Detention at 10 today. Don’t be late.”

A few Slytherin laughed quietly at this, but most of them looked sorry for Harry. Detention on the first day? Such an event would spread talk for sure later on.

The Gryffindors, who also occupied the classroom, snickered. Harry heard whispers of “Typical slimy Slytherin” as he took a seat.

Snape continued his lecture, asking questions to the students, especially Harry. Draco was able to answer some of them, but it was Hermione who was the star. She raised her hand each time and without hesitation, making Snape grudgingly award points to the Gryffindor house.

Harry looked Hermione's way, hoping to catch her eye. However, Hermione was too busy looking at her notes and the professor, soaking up all the information she could. Ron sat beside Hermione and appeared to be distracted, however, and Harry was able to catch his eye instead.

Harry smiled at Ron. He hoped that, despite being Slytherin, he, Ron, and Hermione could nonetheless be friends. Ron furrowed his eyebrows, as if confused about why a Slytherin would be friendly towards him. He purposefully ignored Harry for the rest of the class.

Snape finished up with his lecture, with one more question given to Harry that he could obviously not answer. After the class was dismissed and both Slytherin and Gryffindor students filed out, Snape placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, halting him.

“Remember your detention, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, his disgusted expression betraying his otherwise gentle tone. It was as if Snape had a conflict between hating Harry for some reason and having to like him because he was of the Slytherin house.

Harry gave Snape a firm nod, then left the classroom without looking back. He didn’t have time to dwell on what Snape thought of him. The book in his robe pockets was warm and demanded to be opened up, after all.

 

* * *

 

When Harry went into the Slytherin common room, it was already occupied by a few students. Pansy Parkinson was there, as well as Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.

Harry nodded to them before taking a seat and opening his book.

“I don’t know why a mud-blood is allowed into Slytherin,” Parkinson hissed. Goyle and Crabbe nodded in unison.

“We should just cast Avada Kedavra on them!” said Goyle, and Harry felt the trio’s eyes on him.

Mudblood? Draco had accused him of being one before, and from what he had gathered, it was derogatory term. Just another one to be added to his list, Harry supposed. However, he was no longer at the Dursleys. He was somewhat of a celebrity. And, Harry believed, he deserved to be in Slytherin just as much as his fellow house members.

“What difference does it make?” Harry said aloud, closing the book gently. He would have to read it later.

Parkinson gave him a sharp laugh. “Do you hear that?” she turned to Goyle and Crabbe. “A mudblood thinks that just because he’s poor little Harry Potter and suffered starvation, he’s got special privileges! Don’t make me laugh with your lies.”

“What privileges?” Harry asked. He recalled that Snape had excused him of whatever privileges he had.

“Why - The privilege of speaking to us,” Parkinson sniffed, standing up and looking down her nose at Harry. She then began to circle him, like that of a hawke. “Such bravery. It’s a wonder why you’re not with the Gryffindors. I saw you make eyes with that blood traitor Weasley and that mudblood Granger in Potions.”

“Leave Ron and Hermione out of this.”

Parkinson’s disgust twisted her face into an ugly, ugly expression. “Oh, I will. Permanently in that know-it-all Granger’s case. She makes my blood boil. Just you wait.”

“What do you mean?” Harry was familiar with threats. Up to this point, he’s lived his whole life full of them.

“A filthy mudblood and a Gryffindor sympathizer. You disgust me,” replied Parkinson. “Come, Greg. Vince. This place has been infested with a mudblood.”

Crabbe and Goyle got up from their seats as well, and followed Parkinson out of the common room.

Harry was worried. What did Hermione do? She didn’t do anything wrong at all! While Harry was familiar with being bullied himself, he never wished for it to happen to anyone else - no matter how despicable, and especially when the one being bullied was innocent.

He puts his book back in his robes, and hastily left the Slytherin common room. He had to get find Hermione and give her a warning.

 

* * *

 

Hermione, as it turned out, was in the library. Books were piled high at her table as she diligently wrote her homework with a quill and some ink.

Harry went up to her, and Hermione looked up, surprised.

“Harry! How are you? Everyone told me that you wouldn’t associate with me, but I guess they’re wrong,” Hermione grinned cheekily.

Harry smiled back easily, then he got right to the point. “Hermione. Someone in my house. Pansy, I think. She plans to hurt you. Please be careful.”

Hermione frowned. “Why? I’ve done nothing to her. I don’t even know her.”

Harry shrugged. “She said that you’re mudblood. And everyone hates mudbloods,” Harry explained.

Hermione pursed her lips. “And you think less of me because of that too, huh?” she said. Then, with a wave of her wand, she made her books float up and trail behind her as she stiffly left the library. “Ron was right. That’s all you Slytherin care about.”

“Wait -” Harry called. But Hermione was already gone.

He didn’t understand. Perhaps he had used the wrong words? Was a “mudblood” really such a bad thing? From what he had gathered, he himself was a mudblood.

Harry shook his head. He had done his job, yes, however he was still worried about Hermione. Hopefully, she would heed his warning. For a mudblood, or whatever that meant, she was amazing. Strong and smart and dedicated. Harry didn’t see why anyone would dislike those traits.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the day, Harry couldn’t help but be worried about Hermione. When he saw Ron in the hallway, he even pulled him aside to talk with him about it.

Ron only scoffed at him, however, and said that Harry was probably participating in some sort of slimy Slytherin scheme.

Harry grew frustrated. What was wrong with everyone? Houses did not depict one’s fate, did they? Was it not up to oneself to choose their own destiny? Harry certainly believed so.

The frustration melted away when it was time for Defense against the Dark Arts.

Quirrell was a reservoir of knowledge, and Harry starved for it.

Quirrell spoke of the Dark Arts differently from that of the books. Harry approved, as the class did not just teach students about caution, but also offered a different perspective - the one about how the Dark Arts could be used for offensive strategies that did not necessarily have to be of “evil” by nature.

While many of the students gasped at this discourse, Harry reveled in it. After all, wasn’t discourse the point of a true education?

Throughout the lecture, Harry was able to answer several questions asked by Quirrell. He was glad that he had skimmed those books in the library earlier.

It was after the lecture that Quirrell pulled him aside and praised him for his knowledge and interest.

“You did very well today, Harry,” Quirrell said, adjusting his turban. “I have never thought that a student would be so interested in the Dark Arts,” he continued.

“I - thanks, professor,” Harry replied, not used to receiving praise. However, it did not mean that he did not appreciate it.

Quirrell raised an eyebrow. “You’re not used to praise, are you?” It was a statement, not a question. “I have heard about about your time with those wretched Dursleys,” he continued. “You are better than them. You have potential to be stronger. More powerful, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harry nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable. But who could say “no” to such things? It would be rather odd to do so.

“10 o’clock tonight,” Quirrell continued. “Meet me outside of the Forbidden Forest. I have more material on the Dark Arts that will interest you. Material that you will not find at the library.”

Harry felt his heartbeat speed up. However, he suddenly frowned. “I’m sorry, professor,” he replied. “I have detention tonight.”

Quirrell frowned. “Surely you can slither your way out of it?”

It was Harry’s turn to frown. “I’m afraid not. Professor Snape is strict.”

An angry expression flashed across Quirrell’s face. However just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. “I see,” he said slowly. “Well, Harry. I seems that you’ll have to see me after detention.”

“Really? You’ll wait?”

“For genius such as yourself, of course. Come whenever your detention is over.”

 

* * *

 

When it was 10 PM, Harry hurried into the dungeons and went into Snape’s classroom. Snape greeted him with a curt nod before demanding Harry to clean the cauldrons.

“Make sure they’re spotless, Potter,” Snape told him. “I don’t care if it takes all night.”

As much as Harry wanted to grumble, he resisted doing it. Compared to getting belt or other forms of direct physical abuse, cleaning gunk from cauldrons was nothing.

Harry used a towel and a sponge to clean the contents, his fingertips burning and raw after he was done with the first few cauldrons.

As he was about to start on the next one, a shrill scream rang throughout the corridor outside the classroom. Loud stopping noises were also heard, along with the sound of a large object - perhaps a weapon - bashing and breaking concrete.

Snape was on his feet immediately, before Harry could even react.

“It seems miss Granger is in trouble,” Snape said to himself. He then turned to Harry. “Stay here,” he commanded.

Before Harry could refuse, Snape was already out the door, his robes sweeping behind him as he swiftly made his way down the corridor.

Harry was left alone.

He now had a choice - help Snape with saving Hermione, or meet with Quirrell sooner than later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the fifth chapter. Thank you for reading! Kudos/comments/bookmarks are always appreciated. 
> 
> Have you ever read a book because it was “forbidden” and intrigued you? Which book was it?


	6. Flirting with Death

Harry didn’t think - he reacted.

Without any hesitation, he threw the sponge into the cauldron, rushed out the door, and followed the thumping and screaming. 

He almost bumped into the back of Snape when he made it to the front of the room, where Hermione was bracing herself from a huge beast. It was a troll, and with it was a wooden bat of sorts. It roared and became even more driven by bloodlust, as now more people kept it away from its prey. 

“Hermione! Move!” shouted Harry.

“That’s what I’m doing! I’m dodging it!” Hermione shouted back. “My wand’s somewhere in the rubble! I can’t use it!”

As Snape started to murmur words in a long chant, Harry looked all around. He had not learned any effective spells yet, and he felt utterly useless until he spotted a chunk of concrete that fit right into his palm. He picked it up and threw it at the troll. 

Another piece of concrete joined the one he had thrown, and Harry looked to his right to see that it had come from Ron. 

“Hey! Pick on someone your own size!” Ron shouted and stuck out his tongue. He and Harry threw more pieces of concrete at the troll.

The troll felt the concrete pepper its back and turned around from Hermione. Temporarily distracted, it didn’t notice how Hermione began digging through the rubble, searching frantically for her wand. 

“What’s the plan now?” Ron shouted over the noise to Harry as he watched the troll approach them instead. 

“I thought you had a plan!” Harry replied, colour draining from his face.

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ !” came Hermione's voice.

Harry looked beyond the troll and saw the Hermione had retrieved her wand. With a few more flicks of it, she had the troll’s weapon floating directly above its head. Then, she moved her wand in a swift, downwards motion. 

The effect was immediate - the weapon came plunging down the troll’s head, knocking it over. As the troll began to fall, Hermione rushed out of the room and grabbed both Ron and Harry by the waist with her arms, hurtling them out of the troll’s way.

The trio hit the ground hard and braced for the inevitable tremor created by the troll’s fall.

However, it never came. 

When Harry glanced back, he saw the troll disappear in mid-fall, and Snape putting his wand away.

Snape looked at the trio and sneered. “Granger,” he began in a slow, monotonous voice. “Explain to me why you’re here at this hour.”

“Hermione quickly got up and dusted herself off before answering. “Someone told me that there was something to be discovered here for extra credit,” she replied. 

Snape knitted his eyebrows together while Harry shook his head. 

“I did warn you,” Harry said, getting up and helping Ron do the same. “Pansy was behind this.”

It wasn’t just Hermione who gave Harry an apologetic look then, but Ron as well. 

“Do not underestimate the Slytherin, Granger,” Snape interrupted the conversation. “Some would do anything… and trust  _ anyone  _ for extra credit.”

Hermione nodded solemnly and then turned to Ron and Harry. “Thanks for coming for me,” she said. Then, she grinned. “Even if did have to do all the saving myself.”

“Yeah! You’re welcome!” replied Ron.

Hermione only gave him a deadpanned look. “Let’s get back to the Gryffindor rooms,” she said to Ron. Hermione then looked at Harry. “And you need to finish serving detention with Professor Snape.”

“Aw, don’t remind him, Hermione!” said Ron. 

“Detention is warranted for a reason,” Hermione said, not missing a beat. She nodded at Harry, then at Snape as she and Ron left the scene. “Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

Harry kept silent and held back a sigh of frustration as he continued cleaning and now  _ polishing _ the cauldrons. 

Snape, seeming to have sensed Harry’s irritation, spoke up. “Do you see this as punishment, Potter?”

Harry did not pause in his task. He had learned long ago that although talking was allowed, the task was always the priority. The Dursleys had laughed when Harry first fell for the bait, and then had literally beaten it into him that even if they asked him questions or teased him, he had to nonetheless get the job done efficiently.

“Yes.” Harry replied.

“A punishment...,” Snape muttered to himself. “Why?” he then asked Harry.

“I was late for class,” Harry elaborated, growing even more frustrated, yet determined to not fall into the trap of receiving more punishment. 

“Wrong,” replied Snape smoothly. Then, he put away his quill, ink, and neatly sorted the many parchments of student assignments. He got up from his seat and lightly grasped Harry by the arm with a curl of his lips, as if Harry’s arm was the most disgusting thing he had ever laid his hands on. He stopped Harry from scrubbing the cauldron. 

“You are dismissed, Potter. But remember to work on your  _ focus _ ,” Snape said.

Harry wanted to retort with something about working on not being late instead, but stopped himself. He simply nodded, cleaned the sponge in the sink in silence, and then left the room.

“Go straight back to your dorm!” Snape snapped after him.

 

* * *

 

Harry heard what Snape demanded of him, but he had also already promised professor Quirrell a meeting by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

Again, he did not hesitate as he went out to the school grounds. Once he was outside, he immediately spotted a warm glow in the distance - Hagrid’s cabin. 

Harry approached the Forbidden Forest, trying to as quiet as he can. As he neared Hagrid’s cabin, he heard harsh whispers coming from inside. He paused beside the cabin and breathed in and out slowly. 

“I don’t trust Severus,” came a woman’s voice. 

“I second this,” said another voice. “How do we know if he’s not working for You-Know-Who? He did once, that greasy Dea -”

Harry then saw a hand being held up, as if silencing the people in the cabin. “I don’t trust Severus, either… But I trust Dumbledore,” a male voice joined the conversation.

“Whatever Dumbledore says, goes,” Hagrid’s voice was very distinct. 

“Dumbledore has always been too trusting,” the first voice countered. 

“I say we should still keep an eye on Severus. If only to protect Dumbledore, too,” the male voice said in a tone of consideration. 

“Fair enough. But if Severus gets a hold of the Philosopher’s Stone despite of our wards - and his own ward, I must add - then know that I’m correct in my suspicions. Don’t deny that I didn’t warn you.”

Hagrid grumbled, showing his discomfort with the plan.

The conversation suddenly halted. “Shh! I think I heard something!”

“What do you mean?” asked Hagrid. 

Some clicked their tongue. “Be careful, Hagrid. Dumbledore has already granted you many liberties. Don’t ruin it by bringing in your illegal  _ animals _ .”

“They are  _ not _ just animals!” Hagrid cried.

Harry decided that it was time to get a move on. Waiting for a few more moments until he was sure that no one could detect his movements and sounds due to the chatter, he made his way closer to the forest. 

As promised, Quirrell was waiting for him by the edge of it.

“I’m so glad that you’ve come, Harry,” Quirrell said, smiling.

“What’s the Dark Arts material you wanted to show me?” Harry asked, hoping he was polite enough despite of his blatant eagerness. 

Quirrell reached into his robes and presented Harry with a thick book. The cover of it looked to be made out of red dragonhide. Quirrell opened it to a specific page and cast a simple  _ Lumos _ spell so that they both could better read the contents of it. 

The page was yellowing, however the information there was timeless. There were drawings and words written beautifully in black and red ink. A few diagrams had gold lining them as well. On the very centre of the page was a red stone. 

Harry looked at the label below the stone, and read its name:  _ The Philosopher’s Stone. _

Hadn’t he just overheard some of his professors talking about such a stone in secret? And about how Snape would be dangerous if he acquired it?

“Yes… Snape may try to acquire it,” Quirrell’s voice interrupted Harry’s thoughts. 

Harry looked up at Quirrell. He couldn’t have just read his mind, could he? Harry shook his head in attempt to clear his thoughts and the sudden headache that began. 

“I would save the stone myself,” Quirrell continued. “But my body is too… weak at the moment.” He said the word “weak” with utmost distaste. 

“But the wards -” Harry began, regaining his focus.

Quirrell  waved a dismissing hand. “If one ward can be broken, then so can the rest,” he said. His smile was back. “That’s where you come in, Harry. You’re interested in the Dark Arts. You have potential. You have  _ power _ . You can show the world your power by breaking those wards and helping me put the stone back where it belongs… in the much more advanced security of Gringotts.”

Harry mulled over the new information. He supposed it made sense. Quirrell was asking for his help because the professor himself was of a minority against the others. As for Harry himself, he cannot deny that he was indeed interested in the Dark Arts. And he also cannot deny that he wanted to be powerful. 

Harry nodded. “What should we do?” 

“You must study up on the Dark Arts,” Quirrell replied. “And meet with me after your lessons to learn more.”

“I have other courses…,” Harry said, particularly remembering Potions and Snape’s strictness as well as his questions. Not focusing on Potions was not an option.

“Ah, but I am not just a Master of one subject,” Quirrell said smoothly. “My travels have taught me so much  _ more _ , Harry. Surely with your great potential, you can take on the Dark Arts with me?”

Harry noticed that Quirrell was flattering him again. Although it did make him uncomfortable, it didn’t seem so bad coming from an expert of magic. If someone as powerful as Quirrell -

He suddenly realized something. “What happened to you?” he asked, trying to conceal his suspicions. Harry recalled the first time he met Quirrell at the wand store and felt his powerful presence. If Quirrell was powerful enough, then surely he could also be powerful enough to hide that power. Was Quirrell lying to him now? And why?

As if reading his mind once again, Quirrell answered before Harry could even elaborate on the question.

“I’m afraid I’ve exerted my powers when Dumbledore demanded all professors to create the wards,” he told Harry, shaking his head. “I will need time to recover. Meanwhile, will you accept my offer? It is a generous opportunity and time is of the essence, Harry.” 

The urgency of the words and the fact that it was indeed a generous opportunity - something that Harry, again, cannot deny - made Harry look into Quirrell’s eyes and reply in a determined voice. 

“I accept.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes the sixth chapter. Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are always appreciated. 
> 
> What are some of your favourite spells in the Harry Potter series? And for what reasons? Their ability to heal? Their effectiveness in battle? Or something else? I'd love to know your... thoughts :P


	7. Authenticity

The next few months went by in a blur, but they nonetheless had progress. Harry, determined to learn more about the Dark Arts and achieve that promise of greatness, buried himself in his studies. He met with Quirrell from time to time for extra lessons and practice, and always left them with a slight headache. Harry reasoned that it was because  Quirrell was challenging him. It was a good thing, and Harry did enjoy the praise. He continued to get used to receiving it as well. 

Sometimes, he missed meals, but that was normal to him. He couldn’t even count how many times the Dursleys starved him, anyway, and so he was used to it. Some of his fellow Slytherin, however, did not see this as a beneficial thing at all.

“You missed dinner last night,” Draco told him, putting his textbooks down next to his own in the library.

“I need to study. It’s important,” Harry replied. 

“More important than your health?”

At that, Harry looked up from his readings. Like Quirrell, Draco seemed to genuinely care about him for one reason or another; not really out of anything in return. It had taken Harry many lessons of with Quirrell to understand this, too. “Save me a seat tonight?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. Satisfied with the answer, he got up, picked up his books, and left. He gave a stiff nod to Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle on his way out. 

“I don’t get why Draco of all people cares for mudblood Potter,” Pansy whispered to Crabbe and Goyle.

Crabbe and Goyle looked confused. “We talked to him. Said he hated Potter?” Crabbe replied, although it sounded more like a question.

“Draco’s a true Slytherin! A pure-blood!” Pansy hissed, her voice sounded to be considering something now. She then smiled. “Ah, So it must be part of a grand plan, then,” she concluded. She then shot a glare at Harry and whispered loud enough so that Harry could hear her next words. “Draco’s on our side, truly. Does Potter really think he’ll save a seat for him? The humiliation will be great to watch.” 

Harry knew that Pansy was trying to get to him, but he nonetheless knitted his eyebrows together. What if Draco was really trying to make a fool of him, and therefore use him as a mere stepping stone to achieve something? Perhaps people were always out for themselves after all. Harry wondered if Draco will simply “forget” to save a seat for Harry just to pitifully humiliate him, as Pansy had put it. It would be of petty, of course, but it was still a possibility. 

Yet if Draco was such a person only out for themselves, was Hermione and Ron as well? What about Dumbledore? Harry recalled Dumbledore’s disappointed face when the Sorting Hat cried out “Slytherin!” instead of the predicted “Gryffindor”. Then, Harry’s thoughts went to Quirrell. Quirrell had said that he needed help with the wards to the Philosopher’s Stone, and wanted to provide extra lessons to Harry out of his own time. However, Quirrell had made it clear that those extra lessons had both to do with retrieving the stone and with helping Harry achieve greatness and power himself. Things were no longer black and white, Harry realized, and things blurred depending on the circumstances. Harry knew that he had to tread carefully from now on. 

“Thanks, Pansy,” he said quietly, even though Pansy didn’t hear him at all.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was especially good today. Or perhaps everything just tasted really good because he hadn’t eaten in awhile. 

The situation with Draco confused him. He didn't know where he stood with him, as when he arrived at the Slytherin table, Pansy was already sitting beside Draco, smiling triumphantly. Draco didn’t save him a seat after all. 

_ Tread carefully. Very carefully _ , Harry reminded himself as he searched for an empty seat, ignoring the snickering of a few Slytherins. Perhaps he was overwhelmed by the kindness before, as he had never experienced it in such genuine ways, however behind every act, there had to be a purpose. There just  _ had  _ to be one.

 

* * *

 

 

For the next few days, Harry attended his classes with an edge. He kept reminding himself that someone was always looking for something, and his fellow classmates and professors were not exceptions to such a rule, so he kept a close eye on them. His suspiciousness kept increasing. Snape, in particular, seemed acute to the change and distraction, asking him questions he in no way knew the answers to and giving Harry a few weeks detention before the winter holiday break.

The holidays. That also meant Christmas time. Harry was not looking forward to that at all, as it was really all about Dudley getting gifts and Harry getting nothing but a lump of coal or a box of dog biscuits - and that was if he was lucky. From the tele, he knew that holidays were supposed to be filled with joy and happy families and friends spending time with each other, however he never experienced that. No miracles. No angels. Nothing. Just something as blank as the cold, white snow gently falling outside the Dursley’s living room windows. 

Harry sighed as he closed yet another book. Slowly, methodically, he piled them in alphabetical order by author on the library table. It was a Friday, and it was also snowing outside. Many students were either outside the grounds playing in the snow or inside pestering house elves to make them warm beverages. The Third years, Harry recalled, were going to visit Hogsmeade soon, where a famed shop called Honeydukes was a frequent haunt. Harry wished time would go quickly, but he knew that he was making a fool of himself. Time was surely something that could not be controlled without dire consequences, and Time Turners, as Quirrell had told him once, were a rarity. Harry briefly wondered that if he could turn back time, or turn forwards time, then would he risk it?

His train of thought was interrupted when a couple of students burst through the library door, earning growls from a few books on his table.

“Harry!” greeted Ron and Hermione in unison.

Harry sensed that whatever Ron and Hermione wanted to talk with him about, it must be urgent. That was also something he learned from his many lessons with Quirrell. - Being able to detect moods and use it to one’s advantage. If someone was feeling happy, then the possibility of completing a favour asked of them would increase. If someone needed something urgent to be done by him, then he should be careful, as the circumstance would most likely be hidden in the delivery speed. Harry took those lessons to heart. After all, it was a grand and generous opportunity, was it not? It was something that he cannot deny. 

“What do you want me to do?” Harry asked.

“Harry,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “Don’t be like that. You don’t have to do anything…”

Harry backed up a bit. Quirrell had always said that he was too blunt sometimes, which could either work to or for his advantage, depending on the person he’s up against.

“I thought it was urgent,” Harry tried again.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then at the books piled up on the table, and then at each other again before looking at Harry.

“Oh, come off it, Hermione,” Ron said. “Dumbledore just wants to see Harry. Something about a present!” He then turned to Harry. “He wants to see you right away.”

Harry nodded his head. 

“And as friends, you should tell us what he gives you!” Ron continued excitedly, even as Hermione elbowed him. 

“Would you like me to sign any books out for you?” Hermione asked. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be back here after speaking with Dumbledore,” Harry replied, already out the door.

“What’s up with him? Colder than the weather,” Ron observed.

Hermione stared at the books on the library table for a very long time.

 

* * *

 

Dumbledore’s office was just as how he remembered it since his first day at Hogwarts. The photographs were playful with their comments, the contraptions continued to fascinate him, and seated at the desk was the headmaster himself.

Dumbledore had a wistful expression on him, eyes twinkling behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. However, Harry knew that behind those eyes hid someone intelligent and cautious. Harry wondered why Dumbledore wasn’t sorted into either Ravenclaw or Slytherin. 

“Ah, Harry, my boy,” the wizard greeted as Harry took a seat. “How are you enjoying the snow outside? I assume you are having fun and causing mischief with your friends?”

Harry considered the question carefully before providing an answer. “I don’t really like the cold,” he said. It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, either. He didn’t like the snow, for it reminded him of his all those years spent inside and stuck with the Dursley’s. 

“Well now, Harry. There’s no need to be a stranger,” Dumbledore replied. He gestured to the mug in front of him. “Take a sip. Hot chocolate ought to cheer the spirits up. And while you’re at it - lemon drop?”

Harry took a sweet and put it in his robes. “Thank you,” he replied. He then took the warm mug into his hands. He did not drink it. 

Dumbledore frowned.

“Severus tells me you’re struggling in Potions class,” Dumbledore tried again. 

“And I am serving the punishment,” Harry replied, without missing a beat. He did not want any more punishment for denial. Snape seemed to hate even the air that Harry breathed. 

“Do you see it as punishment, Harry?”

There. That question again. The question that Snape had asked him for what seemed like thousands and thousands of times; enough times that it rivalled the amount of praise and encouragement Quirrell had given him. 

Deep within, a brave part of Harry spoke out. “The professor asked me that, too,” Harry said. “Why?” he demanded the last part.

“I sometimes wonder why you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor,” Dumbledore said, smiling again. 

Harry was taken aback by both the parallel of Dumbledore’s words to his thoughts, and the anger he felt of having to face such a question again and again. Why couldn’t someone from Gryffindor be upfront about it? Why did Dumbledore speak in riddles? It was a manner very different from that of Quirrell, who was usually upfront about things.

Sensing the lack of response, Dumbledore continued. “Snape is doing his best to help you focus. Concentrate on nothing so you could protect yourself from everything.”

Riddles again. Too many  _ riddles _ . Harry was tired and annoyed by it all. He gritted his teeth before taking a sip of the hot chocolate, hoping to calm himself down.

“What I need to do is concentrate on my studies,” Harry said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Lily has always done well in her classes,” he recalled. “Which classes do you excel in, and what classes do you need help with?”

“I’m great in Defense Against the Dark Arts. And I’m fine with everything else except Potions. Snape hates me for some reason, so I don’t trust him. He enjoys punishing me and making me clean his cauldrons,” Harry couldn’t help but spill out. 

Dumbledore nodded, looking pensive and stroking his long, white beard. “I shall speak with Severus,” he said. Then, he got up, walked across the room, and opened a drawer. He took out a box and handed it to Harry with care.

“A gift,” Dumbledore told him. “An Invisibility Cloak, actually. It was used many a times by your father to cause mischief. He entrusted it to me, should he ever pass away.”

Harry’s breath hitched. “I… I’ve never received a real gift before,” he admitted. “Do you -”

Before Harry could ask if he was expected to give anything back, Dumbledore waved a hand. “My only wish is for you to trust Severus just as much as James trusted me,” Dumbledore replied.

Harry nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by emotions he cannot quite pinpoint. 

“Thank you,” Harry said after a long moment. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the seventh chapter. Draco is an interesting character - I recently found out on Pottermore that his wand was of a unicorn hair core. I had always thought it would be dragon heartstring.
> 
> Have you taken the Pottermore Patronus quiz yet? What's your Patronus, house, and wand?

**Author's Note:**

> And that is the end of the first chapter. Feel free to leave either a kudos or a comment.


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